Original Fic
by Jgold7
Summary: This is an unfinished piece I found rusting in my CPU. The characters and universe are all original. I'm biased, but its pretty good. I won't say don't ask for an update anytime soon, but don't expect one.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Power Rangers is not mine. The original characters are. I'm not making money from this.

1.

The lights were low throughout the bay. Shadows cast from a single truss of overhead lighting created dark figures that stretched out far across the cavernous chamber. Beneath the lights, on the open floor of the bay, lay the mangled form of a man, though a thousand times too large to be human. Its sturdy metallic exterior was busted wide open: parts strewn about, wires and other mechanical workings extruding haphazardly.

A slice of illumination pierced the darkness, momentarily, as the doors to a lift opened. Footsteps clanging on a catwalk rang out through the eerie place. A figure – the owner of the steps – appeared at the central console on the main platform above the vast floor. It was unresponsive to the individual's touch, nor the subsequent banging on its sides. Fumbling with a flashlight, the unshaven face of a young man suddenly illuminated.  
Blinking until his eyes adjusted, he peered around the console, searching for the on-switch, a disconnected cable, anything. He knew little about such things and finally gave up. Shrugging, he continued to the floor where the wreckage of the large machine-man rested. Pausing at the base of the towering mass of metal, hands on his hips, he studied it. With the light firmly planted in his mouth, he climbed the behemoth and found his way into the cockpit.

Inside the equally dimly lit compartment, sat another young man. He was hunched over the back of a disjointed seat, busily making repairs. His golden hair covered his focused face, which had only the smallest smear of grease. The rest of him was shockingly clean, given the dingy environment. Obviously deep in thought beyond the work in his hands, he seemed unaware of the intruder, who was now leaning in the doorway, observing with an affectionate grin.

"It's no good," the blond finally said without looking up, as he tossed his work aside, "power relay's burnt out."

"I _was_ gonna ask how repairs were coming, but I can see that is probably the last question you'd wanna answer."

Chortling, he shook his head as he knowingly wiped away the grease smudge on his cheek with a rag, "Hudson, you always could make me laugh," he replied, his voice devoid of any of the emotions usually associated with laughter; he slid out of the precarious chair to rest against a console.

"Thanks, by the way," Hudson said, gesturing around at repairs that were nowhere near complete.

A simple nod was the reply. Crossing his arms, his eyes surveyed the room. It looked like a bomb had gone off inside the cockpit. Only emergency lighting from some unknown source touched the dark of the space. Soot and ash coated the transparent view port as well, keeping any light from entering that way.

"Sorry about the loss today, Skylar," Hudson said softly, after a few minutes. His usual brazen attitude was gone, unsure as to what kind of situation he was walking into today.

"We've been losing a lot lately," Skylar said flatly, as if to shrug off the statement. His brown eyes seemed abnormally dark. Usually, they had a luster, shinning with zeal, drive, and warm kindness.

_But now…_

They were just different. They saw right through you, that is, if they saw you at all. His face was clouded – a "cloud of Skylar" as Hudson always described it – clouded with everything left unsaid. What was churning deep inside, Hudson did not know. The gears in his head were turning, his mind analyzing and devising, behind his far away gaze. They always were these days.

"It seems that way doesn't it?" Hudson offered, trying to break into the jet-stream of thoughts.

He was rewarded with a nod. The pursed lips, furrowed brow, and less-than-expressive eye rolls might have been mistaken as the attitude of a brooding teenager if one did not know better. Skylar was carrying a lot of weight on his proverbial shoulders and he was starting to crack.

His usually stoic nature – when it came to matters of the heart or himself – would normally keep anyone, even those closest to him, such as Hudson, unaware of what he was dealing with. The series of events over the last few weeks, months, and even years was a burden he carried, a responsibility he called his own. And No One, it seemed, had the place to suggest otherwise.

Skylar's bright smile had faded to sheer focus. His personal life had all but disappeared. He only left base when duty called. The Skylar that Hudson knew had disappeared. The turmoil within had begun to leek out like the tell-tale splashes of water over the edge of a dam.

"Ya know, it used to be that losing meant game over," Skylar finally said.

"You're right," Hudson agreed, he had not thought of it that way, "Either they won or we did. We had to or …" he made an exploding sound, tossing his hands together in a jumble, "that was it. We _always_ won, there was no other choice. It's not so cut-and-dry anymore."

"Not _always_," Skylar whispered bitterly. For the first time since Hudson arrived, Skylar looked him in the eyes. Sorrow bore into him. Hudson wanted to cry right then and there, but he could not. He had to be strong for both of them. He had no words, something very uncharacteristic of Hudson, and could only respond with compassionate eyes.

"How'd we get here?" Skylar asked, rhetorically Hudson supposed. "An attack would come, we would respond, they'd try to get rid of us so we'd destroy them instead. Simple. Now…well, we know how things are now. And then there's you…"

Hudson's own mind began to wander, reminiscing.

_So much had happened, _Hudson thought, _Things I'd never have dreamed of. Life was not what I thought it'd be three years ago. We've been through hell. So much bad stuff. If one were to focus on all of the negatives, it would be easy to slip into depression…_

"Skylar," Hudson almost shouted, realizing where Skylar's mind had taken him, "You cannot blame yourself for what happened to me."

His eyes looked away as he acquiesced, a nod almost indiscernible. Skylar was good at covering his emotions with his eyes, but his mouth gave him away. A twitch at the corner of his mouth told Hudson he had not truly gotten his point across.

"Skylar, listen to me," he implored. Hudson was now kneeling in front of Skylar. "How many times do we have to this conversation? I'm fine! Yeah, what happened sucks. I'm a little worse for wear, but I'm OK."

Same response.

"Don't just shut me out 'cause you think you already know what I'm gonna say!" Hudson's tone had changed.

"What do you want me say?!" Skylar exploded. "Huh?"

"Just talk to me." Hudson remained as calm as possible, knowing this was not a yelling match and the anger was really not directed at him. Still, it is hard to not react when someone shouts at you.

"We had this conversation already," the blond said through clench teeth. Tears had begun to well up.

"Then let's have it again," Hudson replied, more forcefully.

Skylar threw up his arms in frustration as he jumped up and began to pace. Covering his eyes with his palms, he tried to gain his composure. He blinked back tears and with frightening resolve, looked Hudson square in the eyes.

"I shoulda been there. It shoulda been me." Skylar's voice was low and primal sounding, raging almost. It startled Hudson. "And then…I failed to…to fix things."

Hudson took him by the shoulders, matching Skylar's intensity. "You could not have prevented this and you could not have fixed it, can't fix it! It's not your fault. We have to accept it, let it go, and move on. Skylar, you're a wreck. I need you to get over this. The team needs you."

Skylar, deflated, shrugged out of his best friend's grip, and turned away. He collapsed against a bare wall and slid to the floor.

"I could have fixed it," he whispered, "but I failed."

_You have got to be kiddin?_ Hudson thought, _I am not getting through to this guy… _Hudson was about to go postal when he realized that Skylar was serious. He narrowed his eyes, studying Skylar.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Skylar mumbled something Hudson was unable to make out.

"What?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Hudson laughed aloud. There was no stopping it. "Don't worry about it?" He repeated, mockingly, in an incredulous and exasperated tone. "What aren't you telling-"

A sudden claxon from the PA interrupted him. A garbled voice and static came through.

"….Skylar…trouble…" was all the two were able to differentiate from noise.

"On my way!" Skylar replied. He jumped to his feet and was about to rush off, but stopped and turned to Hudson. "Please Hudson, don't worry about it. And don't worry about me. _I'm_ fine. There are more important things than me and you that we need to be concerned with."

Hudson wanted to disagree, to say something, anything else besides just, "OK," but Skylar had to go. He was right about more important things.

So he said it.

Hudson barely heard Skylar say "thank you," as he vanished in a column of light.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Power Rangers is not mine. The original characters are. I'm not making money from this.

2.

Hudson sat in the shambles of what was once his cockpit. He wished he were better at this particular type of repair work so he could do it himself instead of waiting for someone else to get around to it.

_It would sure make things go_ _faster_, he thought.

He tinkered with a few things before finally giving up. Out of the corner of his eye, Hudson spied something familiar. It was the primary control panel from the center console. Skylar had just been working on it before he left.

_Something_ _about a burnt out relay_, he remembered. Their conversation replayed in his head again for about the fifth time. He already had a number of questions lined up and ready to be asked, if he could remember them.

_"I coulda fixed it, but I failed."_ _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

Hudson had decided that he would give Skylar one more chance to explain before he took matters into his own hands to find out exactly what the cryptic revelation meant. Another statement had caught his attention as well, "How'd we get here?"

In the past few weeks, he had had an ample amount of extra time to give questions like that some extra thought. It was not always so terrible as now. Hudson smiled as he thought back to the beginning. Everything was less complicated then, and a lot more fun. Even after that fateful day three years ago, life was still good.

_What changed? And when?_ Hudson wondered.

**Three Years Earlier**

"Yes, _dad_, it's fine," Hudson insisted with unbridled attitude. The old, beat-up, pickup the eighteen-year-old piloted rambled down a deserted highway through the scorching August heat of the southwest.

"I added oil the last time I stopped for gas _AND_ I put water in the radiator," he reassured his father. "Don't worry, I got everything under control. I'm not a little boy; I can take care of myself now. I'll call you when I get in, okay? – Alright …Love ya too bye. "

Absently tossing his cell phone into the passenger seat, he rolled his eyes. Hudson grunted at his father's questions– ones he considered to be belittling and pestering. He kicked the radio back up, singing along at the top of his lungs and tapping the beat on the steering wheel.

The youth had been on the road for fifteen hours – leaving very late the night before and stopping to sleep a few hours at a rest area in the wee hours of the morning huddled in the cab of his truck – with several hours left on his journey. Reared from the suburbs of the Midwest, this bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed-a-little-green-behind-the-ears-I-think-I-got-it-all-together-upstart was headed to a desert-y oasis city life.

The heat was intense. It only worsened as morning turned into early afternoon. A sudden, unexpected wave of heat shortly following Hudson's phone-conversation soon had the young man dripping with sweat. It took little time for him to realize the worst had happened.

Hudson groaned. "You gotta be kidding me," he complained aloud. Picking up the phone, to his dismay, he speed dialed his father.

"Hey Dad, the A/C's broke."

There was silence only the other side.

"Dad?" Checking his screen, he saw he'd lost the call and there was no service. _Probably not any for miles either_, he guessed. "Great."

Hudson rolled down his window and peeled off his soaked tee. The latter task took remarkable skill while driving stick. Wearing only an A-Shirt and cargo shorts in a mobile convection oven, he continued through the sweltering heat.

Mirages shimmered off the blazing asphalt in picturesque waves. The bright rays of the sun beat down with unrelenting intensity. Downing his last bottle of sports drink, Hudson was literally drenched with sweat. He hardly believed how hot it was.

_I gotta stop at the next gas station or rest-stop._

He had not seen any for miles, nor had he seen any signs. Not even any road signs or mile markers, but it was an older highway.

_I can't remember the last car I saw, hmm, _he pondered, _oh well._

A nagging pain in his left arm caused him to glance at it. Resting on the door over the retracted window, he saw a brightly colored red forearm. A nasty sunburn had happened much quicker than Hudson could have imagined. He usually tanned well, and burned rarely. He pulled it out of the direct sun and cradled it to his now bare chest.

Driving on, he hurried to the next exit, but none came.

Over the din of the radio, Hudson thought he heard a noise. Flicking the switch, a distinct hissing sound became quite clear and then, as if on cue, he felt the vehicle slow.

_Oh no, now what_?!

Hudson pressed down the accelerator, to no avail. His slowing continued. The gas-gauge showed a third of a tank yet left. The temperature was obviously running hot and oil pressure was a little high, but still within circumstantially acceptable levels. The rear-view mirror showed thick, black exhaust.

Peeking out the window and in his side mirrors, his worst fears were realized. Two lines of black marked his path behind him. The rubber on his tires was moist with their own liquid: His tires had begun to melt.

"It cannot be that hot out there," Hudson insisted aloud, banging on the steering wheel.

In reply, a strident _bang _interrupted the silence as the truck rocked and veered left. His front driver-side tire had popped. An earsplitting explosion followed as the other three burst. Hudson barely maintained control of the truck. He brought it to a rough stop.

"Four Blow-outs?!" Hudson inquired out-loud in disbelief.

He thrashed about dramatically while he unbuckled and then tumbled from the truck, yelling unclear obscenities and invectives. He slammed the door behind him. Instantly, the soles of his thongs were melted by the blazing heat of the asphalt. The inferno Hudson had stepped into was far hotter than he could have fathomed. The sheen of sweat coating his brow and torso steamed, evaporating in seconds.

_Out of the frying-pan and into the fire_, he mused. How he was able to joke – even in his mind – at such a dire moment, Hudson was unsure. Reaching for the door, the inside of the truck obviously the lesser of two evils, his hand met hot metal. His fingers were scorched.

Cradling his burnt appendages, he high-stepped away from the truck and the black top. Every painful contact with the ground was unbearable for his charred feet. The plastic shoes had melted onto his soles. Each second out in the blazing sun scalded his bare skin. Hudson's voice was unintelligible, crying out in agony unimaginable.

His vision white-hot, he tumbled to the ground. The flesh on his legs met searing-hot asphalt and his back blazing hot gravel. His cargo shorts catching fire as the gas tank of the pickup erupted was the last thing the burnt young man remembered before blissful blackness overtook Hudson.

**

* * *

Somewhere in the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range**

Fresh powder covered the already deep snow pack with a perfect layer of bliss. Evergreens – heavy laden – stood intermittently in groves. The white peaks reached high into a crystal clear sky. The air was biting cold, although not unbearable. Winter recreation had yet to reach this serene snow-scape.

A spray of snow followed in the wake of a lone snowboarder. Blond strands peaking from beneath his white beanie and earbuds peaking from beneath his hair, the boarder slowed his descent and swerved to a quick stop at the top of a rise. Dressed in full snow gear, he removed his goggles to take in the view. Several miles northwest was one of the larger lakes of the region. Its glassy surface covered most of the basin created by the mountains filling his view.

The vista was breathtaking, as was the silence.

_Swoosh!_

An arc of snow covered his vision; he tumbled backwards in surprise. Coughing up snow and frantically wiping his eyes, the sound of giggling gave him a full explanation. Gathering the white from his face and chest, he tossed a snowball in the direction of the laughter. The mirth ended abruptly.

His eyes now clear, the boarder saw a tangled mess of pink and white and ski poles. A very surprised face popped from the snow. The young man could not stifle his laughter as the new-comer untangled herself – which was no easy task because she was nearly hysterical.

Her fuzzy, orange, and pink earmuffs were askew so that one muff cupped her forehead and the other disappeared into her snow-matted, shoulder-length, brown hair. She nearly succeeded in regaining her footing when her laughing turned to snorting and chortling. All balance and control was lost and she toppled back into the drift.

"Skylar, help me!" she begged helplessly.

He guffawed aloud and leaned back on his elbows, his board still buried. Comfortably propped, Skylar waited patiently.

The younger girl flailed for a few minutes to free herself before finally giving up. When it was clear she was completely stuck, he opted for mercy. Skylar kicked his board up out of the powder and planted the edge firmly. Rising from his elbows, he shifted his weight from his rear to his legs. With arms clutched closed to his body, Skylar lurched up onto his feet.

_Probably not how the pros do it, but… _he mused.

He crab-walked over to her. Collecting the poles and using them to steady himself, Skylar reached down and grabbed an arm. She untangled her skis and managed to recover her balance.

She was still laughing.

"Can you believe it's September, Marie?" He asked, returning the ski poles.

"I know!" she concurred, "so much for rock climbing."

"Meh," Skylar said as he shrugged his shoulders and gestured at all the fun there was to be had around them, "oh well."

He took in a deep breath appreciating the cold. It would be plenty warm soon enough, as he would be leaving for school in a few days to the arid southwest. Skylar, his family, and a few friends of theirs had come up to the mountains for a weekend vacation before he took off. They had planned on some fun in the sun at the lake along with a little rock climbing, one of his and Marie's favorite recreational activities. A freak snow storm had taken them all by surprise. Although early in the season, it was not completely unheard of. So, they made the best of the blizzard.

"Got your camera?" Skylar asked.

She nodded and fished it from her jacket. He took it from her and snapped a picture of their snowy selves with the fantastic view as their background.

"Another one for the scrap books."

"Come on," Marie said, "we gotta go. Kody an' Sara an' Brent are already waiting at the bottom for us. We're having dinner with mom and dad at six."

Skylar nodded as he donned his goggles and beanie. He waited a moment as he watched Marie gracefully _shoop-shoop_ down the slope ahead of him. His kid sister, by just shy of three years, was one of his favorite people. Skylar was definitely going to miss her when he went away. He knew the transition was going to be tough for Marie, but she hid it well.

Slipping his headphones back in, he reached inside his coat for his mp3 player and clicked to his favorite playlist. Skylar lithely returned to his downward path; Marie was already out of sight. With tunes blaring in ear, Skylar could not hear the thunderous roar following him.

The avalanche overtook and buried him.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Power Rangers is not mine. The original characters are. I'm not making money from this.

3.

A cool breeze awoke Hudson. He moaned softly. He was absolutely positive he was the most dehydrated anyone could ever have been and still be alive.

_Alive_…

He was alive. Hudson forced his eyes open expecting to see the desert's night sky. Instead, he saw a dimly lit stone ceiling, seven...maybe eight feet overhead. He bounded to his feet and then remembered the ordeal he had just been through. Immediately, he checked himself for injuries.

Nothing.

No signs of any burns or wounds, nothing charred or smoking, not even the smell of ash or fire: He felt fine  
_What the…am I dead?_

Looking around, Hudson realized he was in a hallway or passageway of sorts. The source of the faint glow was somewhere down the corridor ahead of him. The air flow also seemed to be coming from that direction. Behind him was pitch-black.

_Not that way_.

Gingerly, he padded down the passage toward the ambience. Hudson chuckled when he was suddenly reminded of Indiana Jones. He hoped a sacrificial lava pit was not waiting for him. If there was, he really hoped he was not deceased.

Rounding a bend in the passage, Hudson emerged into a wider area. Torches atop ancient-looking columns lined the way. The earthen path gave way to giant paving stones, intricately cut and presumably hundreds of pounds in weight. Several were upturned at one of the archways. The architecture was ornate and obviously very old. Waves of cool air carried away the heat emanating from beyond the columns.

Hudson stopped and moved off the path. Peeking through the columns, he found a river of molten magma inching ever so slowly forward. Immediately, he lurched away from the heat and back into the cool breeze. Following his heavy, television-instructed survival training, Hudson continued toward the air flow.

Time lost meaning to Hudson as he trekked on. Both the heat and the cool breeze increased exponentially as did the size of the elaborate passage. Many openings and forks in the path appeared along the way, but Hudson, erring on the side of wisdom for once in his young life, chose to ignore his curiosity and go with flow.

He began to notice symbols etched into the pillars and arches. While he was no archeologist, Hudson was fairly educated and had studied quite a bit of ancient mythology from a number of diverse cultures. None of what he saw was remotely familiar.

"Native American's simple enough to spot, but this…" he mulled aloud. Hudson presumed that anything of this nature in North America would have to be Native American, but this was clearly not.

A wide flight of a few stairs took Hudson into a much narrower passage. Miniscule glowing lights and piping covered the arched corridor. The twin currents of molten rock had vanished into a stone aqueduct system adjacent to the staircase. The cool air gusted from a large door, ten – fifteen feet in height, which stood ominously ajar at the end of path. It was iron-clad and Hudson was sure if it had not been open, it would not be opened.

Hudson brazenly made his way through the passage and squeezed through the doorway. What he found beyond the door was not expected. A vast cavern opened up before Hudson's eyes. It was possibly the largest indoor structure he had ever seen. Larger than any stadium or sports arena, the space seemed to stretch on forever.

Gigantic structures, thoroughfares, and grandiose edifices filled the chamber. The entire surface of the subterranean cave was covered with the large, elaborate stone work from the corridor. Not one bit of earth or natural rock formation could be seen anywhere. It was literally the size of a city's downtown area.

Hudson emerged into what he considered to be the heart of the entire area. The subterranean city stretched out about the same distance to both his right and left. To him, it looked liked his path seemed to have brought him to the central avenue. The ground was paved with a seamless glistening stone; octagonal pillars hundreds of feet tall and at least fifty feet at the base lined the way. There was not one turn or bend. This straight and narrow went on for several miles. A massive temple-like structure lay dead ahead.


End file.
